


Center of the Universe

by likethedirection



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Gives Mental Hugs, Dean Needs A Hug, Dean is Made of Angst and Pie, Nightmares, Other, POV Lisa, PTSD, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, also angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:54:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethedirection/pseuds/likethedirection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean talks in his sleep.  Tonight, someone answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Center of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】宇宙的中心 / Center of the Universe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243954) by [likethedirection](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethedirection/pseuds/likethedirection), [mansongyunye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansongyunye/pseuds/mansongyunye)



> This is my first attempt at writing anything for Supernatural, so I'm definitely still getting my sea legs, but I just have too many residual post-5x22 feelings to unpack not to scribble about it. So I wrote a thingy. Comments are always appreciated. :)

Dean talks in his sleep.  She noticed it during the second night the two of them spent together, back in another life when she was twenty and the center of the universe, and he was the handsome, endearingly dorky “cop-in-training” passing through town.  He taught her how to load a gun, she taught him the many benefits of yoga, and no one had to teach anyone the finer points of classic rock, because as a rule she didn't sleep with any guy who didn't know his Zeppelin.

The first night, she didn't notice much, what with the sex coma and all.  The second night, later that week, he’d had bags under his eyes from the start, and he was already out like a light, still wearing nothing but that necklace of his, by the time her pajamas were on.  She was more of a night owl then, so she got comfortable next to him, thinking it was cute how Mr. Tough Guy curled around her as soon as he sensed body heat, and flipped through the channels with her arm folded over his.  There wasn't much on the news except some weird animal attack - she’d wondered about that, because she hadn't known better yet - and she had just settled on reruns of Gilmore Girls when Dean started mumbling.

Not much of it made sense to her then.  It doesn't make much sense to her now, either, but she at least knows some of the names and words.   _Dad.  Sammy.  Bobby.  Exorcizamus te._  That time, she wasn't sure what to do, especially when he tensed and twitched and things went Latin, so she just stroked his hair and shushed him until his breathing slowed down and his muttering trailed off.  She turned off the TV and settled in to study him, and he clung to her like a barnacle while she wondered where that nasty bruise on his shoulder blade had come from.  She woke up the next morning to his mouth on her collarbone, and when she teased him about sleep-talking in Latin, his eyes only flickered for a second before he made the cheesiest face she’d ever seen and said that Latin was the language of love.  She pushed his head away because she was laughing too much to kiss.

She knows about the Latin now.  She knows she isn't the center of the universe; she’s just the one who gave birth to it via C-section.  She knows where Dean’s bruises came from, even if he doesn't get them now.  She knows that she’s still a night owl by nature, and if she can’t sleep, Dean will be all too happy to stretch out with her on the couch and flip on Gilmore Girls (and, on a good night, chuckle at way more of the jokes than she does).  She also knows that this man is not the sweet-talking alpha pup she met first.

She doesn't know all of the names he says now.  He barely ever says ‘Dad’ anymore.  ‘Sammy’ happens a lot, which breaks her heart even though she didn't know him.  ‘Bobby’ drops in here and there, but the rest are new.  She’s not sure who Michael is, or Zach.  She doesn't think he likes Ruby.  She doesn't think _she_ likes Alastair, whose name shudders in Dean’s throat and more often than not comes out as a whimper.  She’s learned to just wake him up if she hears that name, before Dean’s heart can start galloping under her palm or the tears can leak out of his eyes.  The first time he woke up from that on his own, he went straight into the bathroom and locked himself in, and she nearly called 911 when she heard him choking on his own breath.  The next day, feeling helpless, she Googled ‘panic attack.’  Since she started waking him up and talking him down, it’s happened less.

One name doesn't seem to bother him, and she tries not to ask.  He was on the road for a long time, and he probably met dozens of women, some of whom probably mattered to him.  Some of whom he probably had to watch die.  If he wants Tessa to come get him, that’s his business.

She likes to think he’s getting better.  He’s watching his drinking, particularly when Ben is around.  He goes to work on time, talks to the neighbors, rakes the leaves, helps Ben with his homework, and makes love to her like she really is the center of the universe.  But she sleeps next to him, so she knows he’s still trapped somewhere, still stuck in the place he won’t talk about no matter how many openings she gives him.

Tonight, he says a new name.

It’s been raining steadily for hours, lightning on and off with an occasional rumble of thunder far away, so she misses it when his breath changes.  By the time she’s turned around from putting her book on the nightstand, he’s already tense, his brow twitching into a frown.

“Sammy,” he mumbles, and she silently reminds the universe that he doesn't deserve this.  

Laying a hand on his arm doesn't really help him, but touch usually calms him down when he’s awake, and it makes her feel better.  It doesn't seem like it’s going to be an Alastair-dream, but the alternative is almost worse.  His face looks like he’s fighting tears even in his sleep.

Lately she’s been trying out humming to calm him down, and she’s halfway through _November Rain_ when he drops his head to the side and murmurs, “Cas.”

New name, new tone.  She can’t place this one.  Dean mumbles the name again, then mumbles something else, and she takes note.  So Dean wants Tessa to come get him, and he wants Cas to come back.

Someone is standing over their bed.

She’s bolt upright in a gasped breath, and the stranger looks really confused for a second before holding up his hands.  They’re empty, not that that means anything, but what keeps her from pulling out the knife under Dean’s pillow is the way the stranger’s face changes when he looks down at him.  She sees it in flashes from the lightning.  A frown that smooths into something else, something like sorrow.

“Cas,” Dean whispers a third time, and the stranger shifts toward him a little, though it doesn't look deliberate.  Just a response.

One hand is still on Dean’s arm, the other hidden, gripping the handle of Dean’s blade, and she takes a leap.  “Cas?” she whispers, and the stranger looks at her.  Eye contact is all she needs: he’s not human.  Not even close.  “That’s you?”

He nods, then drops his attention back to Dean.

Dean’s breath is speeding up again, and there’s more urgency when he repeats his brother’s name.  His body tenses under her fingers, and he flinches hard like he’s going to bolt right out of bed and off the edge of the world.  Cas takes a step closer, his knees touching the edge of the mattress, and he’s not going to hurt Dean.  Not when he’s looking at him like he’s the center of the universe.

Cas gently lays his hand on Dean’s forehead, and it’s almost immediate.  Dean stops twitching.  His muscles gradually release under her hand, and his breath begins to slow.  His frown fades, his eyebrows disappearing under Cas’s palm.

Lisa does not like Alastair, but she has decided she likes Cas.

Cas stays there and watches Dean's face until Dean heaves a deep, slow sigh, and then lifts his hand away and steps back.  When he glances at Lisa, she whispers a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

Cas nods.  When he speaks softly back, it’s surprisingly deep and gravelly, almost lost under the distant thunder.  “He won’t wake until morning.  There will be no dreams.”  He glances around the bedroom and tightens his mouth a little.  “I apologize.  Normally he's awake when he prays.”

It takes a second to catch it, and she doesn't until she’s halfway through shaking her head and telling him, “No harm done.  Just...maybe some warning, next time.”

Then she does catch it, as he nods and starts to turn away.  “Wait.  Did you say, ‘prays?’”

Cas looks at her, and the lightning flashes, and she glimpses his shadow on the wall.  Her breath catches in her throat.

She looks back at him, wide-eyed, and he answers, “Yes.”

Blink, and he’s gone.

She stares at the empty space that was once Cas for a long time, wrapping her mind around something almost too big for it, before she swallows hard and lowers herself back down next to Dean.  A second, and he shifts to curl around her heat, his breathing deep and slow.

She spends a long time combing her fingers through his hair, thinking of the kid she first met and the man he is now.  A man who dreams of demons.  A man who prays, and is answered.

She holds him in her arms and closes her eyes, and behind her eyelids, wings unfold.


End file.
